


A Girlfriend for Christmas

by OriginalCeenote



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Ororo Munroe, Emma's Coworkers Suck, F/F, Friends to Lovers trope, Gay Emma Frost, Hallmark Holiday Movie AU, Knight in Shining Armor Trope, New England Coastal Towns have the worst traffic and tourists, Ororo is good with tools, Selene Gallio is a Horrible Boss, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-03-13 11:32:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13569723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: Emma’s idea of being a True Grownup involved the following benchmarks:Gorgeous sports car. A plush apartment in the city. Gucci shoes and Evan Picone suits. Wine and cheese for dinner. Setting her own bedtime. No longer having to date Mother’s friends’ boring sons for appearances. And pretending that her busy work schedule prevented her from returning to her backwater hometown for Christmas.But after breaking up with her long-term girlfriend, having her job sabotaged by a coworker, and ending up stranded when her car breaks down, Emma realizes she could use another True Grownup to come to her rescue. And Ororo, once her childhood best friend before they went their separate ways, has grown up and comes back into Emma’s life full of unwanted opinions and sass.





	1. Baggage

**Author's Note:**

> Taken from a Tumblr prompt, “Where’s my lesbian Hallmark movie where a sweet, wide-eyed small town Christmas tree seller who bakes teaches the tough, corporate, big city lawyer who’s back in town for the first time in ten years the meaning of Christmas? *slams fists on the table* WHERE IS IT?”
> 
> So, here it is.

“If I have to go, you have to go. You’re not leaving me at the dinner table with Uncle Harold again. He cornered me in the kitchen last Thanksgiving and talked my ear off for an hour. Old pervert.” Emma listened to Cordelia with half an ear as she applied a drizzle of warm wax to her shin and spread it over her flesh with the tiny paddle. Her head began to sag beneath the weight of her damp, thick blonde hair still wrapped up in a towel.

“He’s not a pervert,” Emma murmured as she flattened the paper strip over the wax.

“Emma.” Cordelia’s pregnant pause after she said her sister’s name in _that tone_ let Emma know she was in for at least an hour-long rant complete with bold exaggerations, histrionics, claims that Emma’s memory was faulty, and borderline shrieking. “You remember his disgusting magazine and comic collection in the attic before Grandma cleaned it out? It took forever to find anyone to buy those old foot lockers of his, but it was so embarrassing when she found those nasty old Vampirella comics down at the bottom! There were DOZENS of them.”

“They were just books.” Emma wouldn’t admit to Cordy that she and Ororo had snuck up to the attic when they were nine and spent an afternoon reading _all_ of them in intrigued horror. All of the Black and white pages of nudity and dismemberment had burned themselves into Emma’s eyeballs. She remembered Ororo’s low gasps and giggles mingled with exclamations of disgust.

Fun times.

“So. What time are you coming?” Cordelia demanded.

“Never,” Emma pronounced. Her tone was firm and bored.

“Emma. You’re not leaving me to Mother and Father. Not if you have a decent, caring bone in your body.”

“I don’t. I truly don’t. You realize that by now, right?”

“I’m telling Adrienne.”

“That won’t make me pack my bags any faster.”

Cordelia sighed in aggravation. “Emma. _Please._ Please come.”

“Cordy. _No._ A thousand times, _no_.”

“It’s not like you have any plans with Amora, instead.”

That was a sore point with Emma, and Cordelia knew it. Emma’s girlfriend left on a business trip, choosing to tell her about it two days before she boarded the plane to Los Angeles.

“I won’t be able to bear it without someone at least somewhat sane sitting next to me at the dinner table,” Cordelia told her.

“Then sit next to Christian.”

“Not the same. Chris and Mother will be talking about his new lighting fixtures and his new suede couches and the statuary and goldfish pond that he just landscaped in his backyard…”

It exhausted Emma just _thinking_ about it. As much as she loved Christian, he was the oldest child, the only son, and an _absolute attention hog_. Hazel Frost doted on her son, all while she micromanaged her youngest daughter’s life and undervalued - or just plain ignored - Emma’s accomplishments.

Emma contemplated her nails. “I really just planned to stay home, eat pot pies and watch _A Christmas Story_ in my pajamas.”

“Ooooh. That sounds good,” Cordelia confessed. “You can always stay here with me, and we can do that at my place. C’mon. We can sneak out of dinner under the pretense of picking up more wine and conveniently get lost on the way back.”

“Ugh… Cordy. I just don’t want to go. I can’t deal with this every year.” Emma grew exhausted just thinking about it. “I already did my shopping and had everything shipped home.”

“That was fast. Where did you shop?”

“Amazon.”

“Seriously?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“That takes the fun out of it! You don’t want to browse and actually touch everything and sample the food at the little Hillshire Farms stands in the middle of the mall? And smell the Cinnabon and soft pretzels?”

“That’s the eighth ring of Dante’s Hell.” The mall was claustrophobic, Emma didn’t feel like being run down by a dozen strollers steered by their haggard mothers, listening to children screaming from the Santa photo stand, or listening to strangers offering her massages from the center aisle. 

“You still should have gone with me to Spencer’s,” Cordelia said. “ They had ugly Christmas sweaters with humping reindeer.”

“Did you get one for Christian?” 

“Yes.”

Emma cackled.

“So. What time are you coming?” Cordelia repeated again in an attempt to wear her sister down.

“I’m still not.”

“Sure you are. You’ll feel terrible if you skip it. Father will spend the whole night wondering why you didn’t come. He’ll be so disappointed. Devastated. And you know he needs someone to rescue him from Mother.”

Emma groaned.

“Emma…”

“Cordy. _No_.”

“Emma, it’s Christmas!”

“I know. I know it’s Christmas. And the beauty of being an adult is that I don’t have to go if I don’t want to. And I don’t want to.”

“Not even to save my sanity?”

“Just don’t go.”

“Lord, if _only_. Mother already cornered me and committed me to helping with the roast and the Yorkshire pudding.”

Emma’s mouth watered. That was her favorite. “You’re cooking?”

“I’ll end up there in the kitchen at the ass crack of dawn, with Mother barking out orders every five minutes.”

Emma shifted the phone to her other shoulder and began to paint her toenails. “Let’s say, hypothetically, I showed up to Christmas, completely against my better judgment. You promise me we get to leave early, wine in hand, and escape the insanity and rampant screeching and hair-pulling?”

“I’ll make sure you won’t regret this.”

“Liar.”

“I can’t wait to see my baby sister,” Cordelia crooned.

“I hate you.”

“You love me. We’ll have a girl’s night. Maybe we’ll even have Chris over. He appreciates wine.” Cordelia didn't bother to keep the triumph out of her voice.

“I’m only staying until the day after Christmas,” Emma warned.

“What? That’s not long enough!”

“I don’t feel like staying until New Year’s, and I have an account meeting once I get back, anyway.”

“Sound fun,” Cordelia told her in a tone that she thought it was anything _but_.

“I’ve been up to my neck in sales projections and spreadsheets all week. My Outlook inbox is practically _bleeding_ with red flagged messages.”

“I hate that,” Cordelia agreed. “I’m going to Vegas next month for a conference. At least it’ll be warm.”

“Nice.”

“I’m so sick of snow. And we’ve got a ton of it here. Christian and I went to the beach today and drove past the cranberry bogs. He took some great pictures.”

“Did you get to walk on the ocean?”

“Yup.” January on the Cape meant frozen water all the way out past the sandbar. It was one of the Frost siblings’ favorite pastimes to walk on the frozen waves. Winters on-Cape were “scenic” during December, and a desolate, slushy, icy wasteland the remaining three months of the season. Not that living in New York was an improvement, but Emma had the option of taking the subway to work if it took the city a while to plow the roads. And the coastal wind in Emma’s hometown was the kind that chilled you to the bone. The salt and sand also threatened the pristine paint job of Emma’s Porsche. 

One could call Emma’s priorities skewed for putting the sanctity of her precious car before the opportunity to see her family after being gone for almost two years. 

To which Emma would reply, “Tough shit.”

“You missed Christmas preview. Downtown looked nice.”

“Mmmm.” 

“Stop sounding less than thrilled.”

“Nonsense. I'm ecstatic.”

“Okay. Call me when you get in, so I can let you into the apartment and stow your stuff before we head to Mother’s.”

It was a sound plan. Otherwise, Mother could trap her, and she’d be stuck in her fussy house, with all of her Hummel and Lladro figurines staring back at her.

“I’ll call you. I blame you if this goes sideways.”

“How could it? It’ll be loads of fun.”

Emma made a disgusted sound. “Liar.”

“Good night, baby sister.”

“Oh, good _night_.”

Emma glared down at the phone after she rang off the call. Goodness, she was in for a penny, now, and in for a pound. 

“Why?” she muttered aloud.

*

Emma tentatively packed her bags the next morning before she got ready for work, rifling through her closet and picking out a few outfits to drop off at the dry cleaner’s, including her red cashmere sweater dress. It looked “festive” without being gauche, at least, even though it was the only red thing in her wardrobe. She had to be in the mood to wear it. It was nice enough to meet Hazel’s standards, at any rate, but Emma could already hear her mother’s inevitable lecture of “Let’s just perk this up a bit” before dragging out some gaudy necklace or scarf from her own collection that Emma would never touch of her own volition.

Emma loaded the outfits, on their hangers, into her travel garment bag and headed into the bathroom to center herself for the day. It was early enough that it was pitch black outside, making Emma crave her fleece sheets and duvet. She showered and buffed her skin with her loofah and Victoria’s Secret shower gel, pumice stoned her heels, and let the conditioner sit on her hair while the hot spray pounded the tiles, drowning out some of the noise in her head.

She still ran on autopilot, compiling her constant list.

Buy more subway fare cards. Drop off her dry cleaning. Check her bank balance. Pay her internet and cable bill. Pick up Betsy’s birthday card and cake for the office party. Status and planning meeting at ten AM. Training meeting at two PM. None of that sounded appealing at the crack of dawn. Amora hadn’t answered her text yet from the night before, which irritated her.

Emma stood before her full-length mirror an hour later, putting the finishing touches on her pearl gray pantsuit and white blouse. Her Jimmy Choo chunky pumps dug slightly into the ball of her foot; they were only a week old, and Emma hadn’t broken them in yet. Emma unplugged her phone, tablet and laptop from their respective charging cables, ate a half a container of cottage cheese without bothering to pour it into a bowl, and packed up her carrier bag and purse. She blew her empty apartment a kiss before she locked up. Emma tipped down the steps, garment bag slung over her shoulder, and she passed Roberto and Sam as they came out of their apartment. Both of them grinned at her, dressed in their nursing scrubs and cross trainers.

“I can’t even remember the last time I wore real clothes to work,” Roberto remarked. “Looking slick, Emma.”

“Pretty classy,” Sam agreed. “Got big doings at work today, Em?”

“Just the usual doings,” Emma confirmed. “Have a good day, boys.”

“What are you and Amora doing for Christmas?” Sam called after her. Emma nearly tripped as she turned quickly to reply, not expecting the conversation to continue.

“Uh. Not. Not much. She’s not in town. I’m probably just going to Mother’s.”

“Awwww,” Sam murmured, face reflecting disappointment on Emma’s behalf.

“We can catch up and exchange gifts when she gets back. Santa won’t miss us,” Emma promised. “I’ll talk to you later!”

“See ya,” Sam agreed. “Don’t hurt yerself in those shoes, gal!”

Emma smirked to herself. That would be a handy excuse to get out of her meeting and training for the day, certainly.

While Emma stood on the subway platform waiting for her transfer, she wondered how she reached a point in her life where her whole day became a series of events she’d much rather avoid.


	2. Petty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fuck it,_ thinks Emma bitterly. It wasn't just that things weren't going “according to plan.” Never in any stretch of the imagination could she have planned for this clusterfuck of a holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading his exercise in indulgence and crack fic. Someone has to contribute to the Ororo/Emma fandom, and it might as well be me.

Emma managed to get a hold of Amora on the second train after she dropped off her dry cleaning. She called her when she failed to reply to her text. Amora picked up after the third ring. Her voice sounded a little surprised, and harried.

“Hey. What’s going on, love?”

“The usual. Packing up to go to Cordy’s, despite the ten thousand better ways that I could spend my week. She wore me down.”

“You like spending time with your sister. You can day drink and watch _Drag Race_.”

“I know. But we’re going to brave Mother’s.”

“Oh, good Lord.” Amora’s tone was sympathetic and amused.

“It might be nicer if my girlfriend was going with me.”

“It’s good to wish for things.” Amora threw Emma’s favorite quote from _Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael_ at Emma. Her tone was wistful and lacked cruelty, but Emma was still upset. She pushed it down when she replied.

“I’ll tell you what else I wish for.”

“Emma…”  
“I think you’ll approve-”

“Not now.”

Her voice was clipped, bringing Emma up short. She felt prickles spread down her nape.

“Wow. Okay. Is this a bad time?”

“It really is. Em, I’ve got to go.”

“Okay, well I love-”

The words _Call Ended_ flashed across Emma’s screen, and she stared at it as she lowered it back into her purse, chastened. _Well._ That was abrupt. Emma noticed an older woman sitting across the way who raised her eyebrows at her. Emma gave her a brittle smile in return and looked away, pretending interest in the subway’s route map plastered to the wall.

Emma’s morning progressed about how she could have expected. She checked her inbox and found about five dozen of them flagged as urgent and needing follow-up. All of Selene’s had “Do you want to send a notification once this has been read?” indicators that made Emma roll her eyes in disgust. That was her day, sorted. Emma worked her way through them as she checked her voice mail. There was an old message from Cordy telling her to call her back, and one from her hairdresser. She was due to have her highlights retouched. Emma was dying to have some time tipped back in the stylist’s chair to have her troubles massaged and washed away for a couple of hours. If she didn’t, Mother would have a field day hovering over Emma’s head every time she sat down, tsking over her roots.

Danielle swept by her desk and dropped the company platinum card onto Emma’s inbox. “Don’t forget Betsy’s cake.”

“Can’t someone else do it?”

“I’m just bringing this to you, like I was told,” she told Emma with a shrug. “I’d do it, but I have to work the reception desk. Rahney called out sick.”

“Tis the season.”

“Right? Okay. You’ve got the card. You’ll get the cake?”

“Uh-huh. Will do.”

“Might wanna pick up plates, too. Get some purple ones, that’s her favorite color.”

Emma sighed. She didn’t need a time-consuming errand that would take her away from her desk for that long.

Before she could bring that up, her intercom buzzed from her desk.

“Good morning,” Emma offered.

“Gotta go,” Dani muttered. “Bye.”

“Emma, dear, can you stop by my office for a minute?”

Emma’s stomach sank with dread. “I’ll be there in a second.”

“It shouldn’t take that long.”

Which they both knew was an outright lie.

Emma got up from her desk with reluctance, heels clicking across the linoleum. The walk to Selene’s office took her across the rows of cubicles and past the break room. Scott waved to her from the copy machine. He was still wearing his ridiculously large sunglasses.

“How long til you can stop wearing those?”

“My eye doctor gave me the all-clear for two weeks from now. Doesn’t want me exposed to too much glare until they heal from my surgery.”

“Until then, you’re a man of mystery.”

That made him chuckle. “That’s everything I’ve ever aspired to be.”

Emma’s smile lingered until she reached Selene’s door and gave a firm knock.

Selene was standing by the window, sipping her Starbucks green tea. She nodded at Emma and told her, “Close the door.”

_Ooh._ Emma turned to get the door, wincing in the space it took to turn her back. She headed toward her desk and sat down, waiting for Selene to do the same.

“So. You’re heading home for Christmas.”

“I put in for it last month,” Emma reminded her, even though she had only put in for the time _off_. It hadn’t been specific to visiting her family until Cordelia ambushed her.

“I just want to make sure you don’t end up coming back to chaos after Christmas,” Selene warned. “We need everybody on deck to make sure things keep up and running. It’s difficult for everyone else when they don’t know what you’ve been working on. I need you to work with Tessa and Betsy today and show them your logs and your calendar. You’re all going to the same training session today. Meet up with them after it’s over.”

Emma dreaded it just as much as meeting with her boss. “I thought we were having the cake after the training.”

“Oh.” Selene glanced at her Outlook and saw the reminder. “Right.”

“You want me to get the cake.”

“Oh. You haven’t done that yet?”

Emma fumed on the inside and gave her a self-deprecating smile. “I can take care of that now. Dani just gave me the company card.”

“Don’t take too long. Check your emails, I forwarded an inquiry from Sebastian to you. Copy me in when you reply.”

“Of course.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Emma felt dismissed and annoyed.

But before she could twist the door knob to let herself escape, Selene’s voice stopped her.

“We should really talk more productively about how the office is supposed to fill the gap when you’re not here. When you get back from your family’s.”

“O. Kay.” Emma tried to keep the edge out of her voice. “Is that.. All you needed to see me about?”

“Sure. Did you have any questions for me?”

_How many years would I get for homicide? How could I make your death look like an accident?_ “No. I’m good.”

As Emma left Selene’s office, she nearly collided with Madelyne from Accounting. The petite redhead gave Emma a cool smile. “Sorry. Almost ran you over.”

“I’ll try not to be an easy target, darling.”

“Pedal to the metal.”

_Ugh._

Madelyne was also holding a Starbucks tea. Emma hurried back toward her own office, but not before she heard Selene and Madelyne beginning their morning gossip session before Madelyne had even closed the door.

Emma was expected to do the work of three people, while Madelyne leaned against everyone’s desk and nattered on about her latest Ulta purchases and her trips to the Florida Keys and Virginia Beach in her private jet. Emma initially felt glad when Selene hired her to join their sales management team. Madelyne came to them from a rival insurance carrier with five years of experience under her belt.

But over time, the microaggressions began to build. 

Madelyne began to take credit for Emma’s work. She always managed to interrupt her during meetings and talk over her during Emma’s presentations. She managed to misplace Emma’s expense report for the last conference they’d attended, making Emma have to resubmit it. Twice. Emma was sick of her. 

“Don’t let her breathe down your neck like that,” Cordelia warned her one night while Emma groused about her bad week. “She’ll try to steal your office out from under you, like a cuckoo taking a nest.”

“I can handle her.”

“You shouldn’t have to ‘handle’ her. Seriously, Em. Don’t take that from her. She’ll try to make you look bad, and then where will you be?”

“Underwriting jobs don’t just materialize out of thin air.”

“You said you’re getting sick of underwriting.”

“I’m not sick of my stock options or my health insurance.”

“Well, there is _that_. Just don’t be miserable.”

Easier said than done.

 

*

Emma juggled the cake box and the bag of party supplies for the break room table on her way back into the building. No one jumped to help her with opening the door or pushing the button for the elevator, a fact which irked her. She went to the break room once she deposited her purse in her office, and she began to set up the table, ripping open the packaging on the paper tablecloth. 

“Ooh. Purple.” Jubilee’s voice sounded appreciative. “What kind of cake?”

“Chocolate with ganache in the middle. Whipped frosting instead of buttercream.”

Jubilee pouted. “I love buttercream!”

“Make sure to speak up when it’s your birthday, kiddo.”

Jubilee stuck around long enough to help Emma to hang the little birthday banner she purchased on the wall beside the refrigerator. They set up the plates and napkins on top of the fragile paper cloth, and Emma opened the cake box, removing the quarter sheet monstrosity. 

“Which bakery did you get it from?”

“Sweet Treats.”

“I like them.”

“They’re all right. I like the one back home better, though. They have a lemon diner cake that’s to die for.”

“Wow. That sounds good right about now, too. I’ve been doing this keto diet, but I’m jonesing for sweet carbs.” As if to prove the point, Jubilee stuck her finger out and tasted a fragment of stray frosting on the inner edge of the cake box. “Eh. Guess I’ll break my diet for this.”

Apparently, buying the cake and setting up the party meant being responsible for rounding up the office from their desks, leading everyone in a round of “Happy Birthday” and cutting slices for everyone when Emma had ten thousand other things to do. Then, it meant putting the leftovers in the fridge after moving a dozen tupperware containers around on the shelves to make room.

(Honestly, Emma was sick of her office. Sick to death of them all.)

Training. Status meeting. Emails. More emails. Two more plan renewals that bought flex plans with a dental option, including COBRA participants. By the end of the day, Emma had a tension headache and a stiff neck from hunching her shoulders.

She furtively checked her cell. Still no calls from Amora. Emma longed to head to her apartment, crash, and cuddle sprawled across her lap. Emma didn’t want to be that “needy” girlfriend. Amora and Emma had something very comfortable, with reasonable boundaries. But once in a while, Emma just craved something she couldn’t name. Amora thought that sometimes, they could “share too much.” For the most part, they had separate friends. Emma had only met Amora’s parents once. She had accompanied Emma to Adrienne’s engagement party, but when Emma and Amora returned home to Emma’s apartment, Amora admitted “That was… a bit tedious.”

“I warned you that Cordelia was the _fun_ sister.” Adrienne was where fun fell short.

“You know, baby, when you go home to visit your folks, they’re really just anxious to see _you_.”

That gave Emma pause, and her joy at finally being home where the two of them could relax faltered. “You’re always welcome. They like you, Amora. They really do.”

“And I’m flattered. They seem sweet.”

“Just… don’t write them off, yet. There will be more fun gatherings than that. Cordelia said she wants to take us out next time.”

“Hopefully not to the awful bar that plays all that house music?”

Emma knew exactly the one. “No. It doesn’t have to be that one. There are other bars. Cordelia is pretty flexible, and so am I. You know that.”

Amora patted her cheek and gave her a too-brief kiss. “I’m bushed, sweetie. Let’s get ready for bed.”

And Emma felt like she’d been dismissed.

Lately, that was growing more frequent. Emma had no clue of how to get back on track.

*

 

Emma finally managed to get out of the office with her work laptop and day planner after she hastily set her outgoing Outlook message and finished up her timecard. She hurried for the subway and lost herself in the noise and rumble of the train car, trying to let herself defuse. By the time she climbed the stairs up to her apartment, her feet were screaming for more comfortable shoes. Emma let herself inside and began getting ready for her drive. She changed into her track suit and Reeboks, ate a quick snack of leftover chicken, and then proceeded to clean out her refrigerator of things that would expire before she got back. She gave her apartment one last perusal before deciding she had everything she needed. (Emma knew full well she would remember at least five things she wished she hadn’t forgotten by the time she reached the first turnpike.)

Emma bundled herself into her favorite winter parka and headed down to her car. She hoped she could beat the worst of the rush hour traffic, and that Cordelia appreciated her efforts. She planned to drive halfway there and stay in a small inn that she loved up in Hartford, and she would start back down the road at the crack of dawn to reach her mother’s before noon. Emma stopped at a drive-thru Starbucks for a Venti coffee with two Splendas and a packet of overpriced trail mix, and she went on her merry way.

Or, whatever passed for merry, when you threw in night driving, her girlfriend not returning her messages, and a visit with her family that was sure to give her a migraine.

Emma listened to her Audible books as she drove. Traffic slowed her pace on and off once she reached the Tappen Zee Bridge. The long drive felt lonely and arduous. Some company in the passenger seat certainly would have been nice.

Amora didn’t pick up her phone when Emma stopped for gas and bought a sandwich of questionable quality at a Hardee’s. 

By the time she reached her inn and wheeled her bag into her room, Emma head buzzed with exhaustion. She brought her laptop with her, changed into pajamas, and slid between the slightly stiff sheets, propping herself up on all of the fluffy pillows while she checked her social media.

Her Facebook feed showed several of her friends in ugly Christmas sweaters, photos of decorated Christmas trees, holiday cookies, and Santa photos with screaming babies on their laps. It made Emma feel cheated, somehow. She just didn’t enjoy Christmas with the same wide-eyed eagerness anymore. It felt so forced. Emma wondered what trait she lacked that Christmas… just didn’t seem like Christmas at this point in her life. 

She kept scrolling, and suddenly, something caught her eye.

“Who tagged Amora in a post?” she wondered as she checked her recent updates.

Who was this Sif?

“Just spending quality time with my… favorite. Girl.” Emma’s voice died off as she clicked on the update, and it took her to an album of about ten photos.

All of them featured Amora, dressed in a plush, green cashmere sweater dress and a little Santa hat. A statuesque woman with light gray eyes and long, dark hair styled in a full blowout stood with her arm wrapped around Amora’s waist. They were smiling. Canoodling.

_Kissing._ The location check-in showed that they were in the wine room of the hotel where Emma and Amora had celebrated their anniversary a few months ago. 

Emma opened her mouth, then closed it again.

She scrolled through the comments on the photos. Most of them were from Amora’s coworkers. Some of them had heart-eyes, telling her “You two look so good together!” Emma checked Amora’s relationship status. “Seeing someone.” That much hadn’t changed. 

Emma’s skin felt clammy, and she had a tight pit of anxiety in her stomach. Her heart pounded as she continued to read the comments. Then, because she was a glutton for punishment, she clicked on Sif’s profile, and found to her annoyance - gratitude? - that it wasn’t closed to non-friends. Her life was an open book.

And apparently, Amora had been a significant part of it for over six months.

Emma quietly closed her laptop, struggled free from the covers and darted into the bathroom. She threw up the sandwich, leaning over the bowl, sobbing until she was shaking and weak.

*

 

Emma looked like a husk of her former self the next morning. She skinned her hair back into a cruel bun and made a half-hearted attempt with her concealer to hide the circles under her eyes. She’d barely slept, and all she could do was stare balefully at her phone on the nightstand, playing the Adele song that she’d set as her alarm. She stopped downstairs and headed into the dining room for the continental breakfast offered as part of her stay. Emma managed to toast a pitiful excuse for a mini-waffle and ate half a container of strawberry yogurt. She took the cup of orange juice away from the table with her and brewed herself a strong cup of coffee back her room with the small pot.

She struggled with her thoughts. Her morning already felt off-kilter. Her emotions were whirling, and she wanted nothing more than to wander out into the parking lot and scream until her throat burned. Emma replayed so many of their conversations in her head, skimming them all for clues. Reading so much meaning into mundane things.

How had she not seen the signs?

How could she had been so _dense_?

Emma took a minute to stare around the room. She’d booked a suite with a king-sized bed. Just the right size for two. Emma let out a hysterical little laugh.

“Merry fucking Christmas to me,” she said aloud. “ _Fuck._ ”

She checked the room to make sure she didn’t leave anything important behind. She ignored the beautiful sunrise and packed up her car. Before she tuned her Pandora station on her phone to plug it in to her bluetooth, Emma sent Amora a text.

_That was some dress that you wore on your date. I’ll tell Mother you won’t make it for her pecan pie this time. She’ll understand._

Her hands shook, and tears burned their way down Emma’s cheeks. She turned her car back onto the highway and drove faster than necessary. 

_Fuck it,_ thinks Emma bitterly. It wasn't just that things weren't going “according to plan.” Never in any stretch of the imagination could she have planned for this clusterfuck of a holiday.


	3. Swept Off My Feet, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just what it says on the tin. Read on!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone’s reading this at all, there is going to be excessive amounts of chicklit-style gossip, whining, consumption of sweets and alcohol, and a little pining.

Emma managed to catch every poorly plowed inch of road and drove the rest of the trip at a slow crawl, through miles of icy slush. She was on her second Venti and it wasn’t even ten AM yet. She still felt angry and raw over the pictures and what they implied.

Two years. Two whole _years_.

How did she even miss the signs? Was Emma really that lost in her own little world of dysfunction?

Amora’s background check came back clean when Emma told her landlord that she wanted to sign her onto her lease when she renewed. Her duplex was airy and comfortable, had its own washer and dryer, dishwasher, refrigerator with an ice maker, and it had a lovely view of the man-made lake and little ornamental fountain. She was due to move in the following month, but Amora still hadn’t signed the lease agreement. Every time Emma brought it up, Amora would brush her off.

“Don’t worry about it, duckie. And remember how we were looking at that quaint condo across town? What’s the point of renewing a lease when we could upgrade?” Amora’s tone was cajoling, but Emma felt a frisson of impatience.

“But. We’ve talked about this.”

“ _You_ keep talking about it, but I don’t feel like you’re hearing me, dearie. Look, let’s just keep our options open, is all I’m suggesting.” Amora gestured around them. “I mean, this is cute. Don’t get me wrong.” She took Emma’s hands and tugged her close, even though a mulish little divot appeared between her eyebrows. “Emma. I like staying here with you, because I’m _with you_. Don’t be such a brat about this.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “M’not.”

“You certainly are. You’re being very needy.”

And that struck cold fear into her heart.

Emma tugged herself free, making Amora huff with confusion. “You’re right. Never mind. We have a month to decide. I’m going to my Zumba class.”

“But- it’s not for another hour!”

“I might as well hit the stairmaster, too. Every day should be leg day.”

Emma rushed back to their room - _her room_ \- and flung open her dresser drawer, grabbing her workout leggings, sports bra and racer back tank top in a shade of ice blue that Amora always said brought out her eyes. Amora watched her from the doorway, leaning against it with her arms crossed.

“Are you really mad at me?”

“Of course not.” Emma worked herself out of her jeans and cashmere sweater and got dressed. Tugging on the sports bra was always a struggle; her breasts jiggled with her effort to coax them up into the snug Lycra. Amora raised her eyebrows appreciatively, despite the tenor of their conversation.

“Emma. C’mon.”

“Set up a time to meet with the owner of the condo, if that’s really want. Or, I can. Let me know what times are good for you.”

 

“Emma, please don’t be upset.”

“I’m _really_ not. I mean, you’re being honest with me, right?”

“I usually am,” Amora told her, with a hint of arrogance in her tone.

“So you were being honest with me, then, when I asked you what you thought of moving in with me, to this apartment, when you put in the application?”

Amora sighed heavily, and her casual smile dropped. “Okay. You know what? Go to Zumba. We can talk about this later.”

Sometimes, they settled arguments with intimacy. Flirting apologies. Sometimes, it went further. But this time, Amora strode from the bedroom, and Emma heard Amora turn on her Spotify playlist, meaning she went onto her laptop. The music silenced itself abruptly, and when Emma passed by, she noticed Amora had her earbuds in. Even her mouse clicks sounded annoyed, Emma mused.

“Goodbye,” Amora told her without looking up.

Emma shut the door a little more firmly than she needed to; not enough to tell the neighbors they were having a spat, but certainly enough to make a statement.

 

*

So, perhaps that was the beginning of it all. Or maybe even the middle.

Emma kept pondering this as she headed around the Mashpee rotary, honking in irritation at a man in a black Volvo who cut her off when he merged. He honked back and flipped Emma the bird as he sped past.

“Merry bloody Christmas,” she barked at his passing tail lights. All she wanted was to use the bathroom, sit down on a seat that wasn’t inside a moving vehicle, put her feet up, and drink wine and eat junk food with her sister. Weeks of counting carbs and hitting the gym every day in anticipation of her mother’s Christmas dinner were about to go down the tubes.

Strangely, though, as Emma drove past the familiar elm, birch and pine trees and saw the folksy wooden business signs for realtors, accountant firms, and dental clinics, she started to relax, letting her shoulders unhitch themselves from around her ears. She’d abandoned her audio books in favor of some music, but when Sade’s “No Ordinary Love” drifted from the speakers in its sad, moody tones, Emma twisted the volume off. None of that. Not now. Emma felt her eyes burning again.

Her gas tank pronounced itself empty. Emma knew Cordelia would want to drag her out to run errands and possibly visit Grumpy’s and the Captain Kidd. Mother would want Emma to take her out shopping because she loved Emma’s car for its seat warmers and comfortable interior. 

Emma decided to coast the rest of the way into town on the fumes, praying she didn’t hit every red light on the way to the Shell station down the block from the ferry parking. It had been her favorite place to fill up, since the accompanying store, Larry’s, always sold her favorite brand of bubble gum and the spicy Slim-Jims that she and Ororo had been so addicted to while growing up.

Thinking about her gave Emma a wistful pang. Emma missed the sound of her voice, especially her little throaty laugh and the way she scrunched her nose first. It had been so long since Emma had anything approaching a “best friend” in her life. At work, she had people who she tolerated, at best.

The first few weeks at the firm made Emma shudder when she thought of them now. Early to work every day. Overprepared for every meeting. Always sitting on the edge of her seat. All of her emails answered within three minutes as they appeared in her inbox, red-flagged or not. Always volunteering to help run errands or pick up the office birthday cakes and every other sort of rubbish Selene pulled out of her tailfeathers. She started off in the secretarial pool while she waited for the underwriting position to open on the firm’s Web site. Emma, fresh out of college, lived with two roommates in a horrible little apartment above a coffee shop. For weeks, she pounded the pavement in heels and pantyhose, equal parts eager and terrified. Rent was expensive. Heat was expensive. Gas for Emma’s old, battered Chevy was expensive. Food was meager; Emma and her roommates took turns writing notes on the white board in angry, red, dry-erasable slashes: _It’s your turn to buy more milk._ Because that wasn’t passive aggressive _at all_. Her personal cell phone blew up with texts from her mother as her morning progressed, chirping at her from her desk drawer. Of course she couldn’t answer them, vulnerable and miserable from her leather, wheeled chair in the front lobby. Hazel Frost, a “woman who lunched,” sometimes made Emma envy her.

Emma didn’t see herself collecting Hummel and Lladro figurines and hosting women’s book clubs, though. Or making Hazel’s pot roast recipe every Sunday night and watching talk shows and soap operas every afternoon, or complaining about a husband who never picked up his socks and who always waited until the last minute to pay his country club monthly dues. Emma longed for the good life, but she wanted to create it herself, rather than “marrying up.”

*

To Emma’s credit, Hazel and Amora got along well enough. Chris had opinions on the subject, almost earning Emma’s swat.

“Never let it be said my baby sister doesn’t have a type.”

“Excuse you? I don’t have a ‘type.’” Emma put bold finger quotes around the word.

“Amora’s one more high-maintenance drama queen Ulta addict who spends too much money on her gym membership and always makes excuses instead of apologizing. And she reeks of pumpkin spice.”

“Sephora,” Emma had corrected him, with a note of triumph in her voice. “And she’s _not_ high-maintenance. She just likes to take care of herself.”

Chris had snorted into his almond milk smoothie at that.

Hazel sailed into the room at that moment.

“Mom,” Chris asked as she rifled through her recipe box with her French-manicured nails, “did you manage to drop off that library book I had due? You said you went to your Red Hat meeting today.”

Hazel tsked, pausing as she selected the recipe card for her Jell-O salad. “I forgot. I told you to leave it on the table by the front door. And I was running late. I detest other women who show up late, when we’ve already started the discussion. It’s distracting, and so rude.”

“But… it’s overdue, now, Mom!”

“I offered to take it as a courtesy, since I was going to be there, anyway,” Hazel told him, giving him a barbed look. “Honestly, you’re just like your father. I’m not planning on being there tomorrow. You’ll just have to take it back yourself.”

Christian gave Emma a long-suffering look once Hazel began to ignore him and rummaged in her cupboard for her Jell-O and canned pineapple chunks. Christian took his smoothie, sidled up to Emma, and whispered, “Amora’s just like that. You have a _type._ ”

He skidded out of the way as Emma raised her hand to swat him.

*

Emma filled up her gas tank, relieved that the price per gallon was cheaper than it was here than it was at home. When you lived in the big city, you paid for it. She stopped inside the store and picked up a half-pound bag of Cheetos, several Snickers bars, a sx-pack of wine coolers, and a bottle of strawberry Quik. _Let the sulking and pity eating begin._ The cashier raised his eyebrows at her reddened eyes and nose as he rang her up. Just as he bagged her items, he did a double take.

“Hey. I know you!”

“Pardon?” He didn’t look familiar. He was unremarkable with his full, sandy beard, short hair and dark eyes. He was tallish and looked about Emma’s age.

“I was two classes behind you. You might not remember me. Bobby Drake? I rode the bus with you and I was in the marching band?” When she opened her mouth and shrugged, coming up empty as she searched her memory, he threw up his hands and grinned at her. “You really don’t remember? I played trombone! Sometimes, we rode the same bus to away games?”

It slowly dawned on her. “Did you date a girl named Marie who was always doing strange things to her hair?”

He gave a mirthless laugh. “Yeah. That lasted five minutes. You just getting back into town?”

“Just survived several hours of holiday traffic.”

He held up her bag as he handed it to her. “This doesn’t look very festive.”

“Tis the season.”

“Hey,” he mentioned, “a few of us are getting together tonight at Grumpy’s, if you’re interested. You should drop by.”

“Oh… I couldn’t. I’m done in. And this hasn’t been the most ideal day. I’m going to be staying at my sister’s.”

His smile faltered a little. “Oh. With Adrienne?” Emma didn’t miss the faint hint of disdain in his tone, either. It didn’t surprise her. Adrienne’s personality was _legend._

“No. Cordelia.”

He nodded in accord. “I see her around every now and again at the gym. Never says a word to me! Hey, it was good seeing you, kiddo!”

“Take care,” she told him. Because he meant well.

Emma hurried out and plopped the junk food and liquor into the leg space on her passenger side, set her purse on the seat, and drove slowly toward her sister’s apartment downtown on Shore Street. As Emma made her way up the street, she noticed a long line of cars coming out of the Walmart parking lot and shuddered. “Eighth ring of hell,” she murmured to herself. Poor, desperate souls.

Emma pulled into Adrienne’s well-lit parking lot, glad it was plowed but praying that the salt the maintenance threw on the blacktop couldn’t compromise her paint job.

Emma trudged up to Adrienne’s door with her snacks and overnight bag. She noticed her sister’s halfhearted efforts at Christmas spirit with the Frosty the Snowman doormat and a string of plain white lights around her window. Emma set down the overnight bag, balanced the bag with her wine coolers against her hip, and rapped the door. She hoped none of her sister’s neighbors stopped her. The one across the alcove, Cassandra, managed to interrogate Emma until her ears wanted to fall off if she caught her outside Adrienne’s door for longer than two minutes.

Twenty maddening seconds slid by, and Emma cursed, knocking with more conviction. She didn’t hear footsteps on the other side or her sister’s music floating from the living room speakers. The day caught up to Emma, and she felt her eyes burn and throat thicken. “C’mon, Cordy,” she hissed. And just when she considered waiting in her car, she heard the dreaded sound of the door hinge across the way squealing open.

But to her surprise, it was just Cassandra’s brother, Charles, hovering in the doorway and leaning on his cane. He wore a truly hideous Christmas sweater, plaid pajama pants, and the kind of fleece-lined slippers cherished by grandfathers everywhere. His kind blue eyes crinkled at Emma as he took in her appearance.

“Well, darling Emma! Hello! It’s been a dog’s age since we saw you last!” His smile faltered for a moment, but Emma recovered herself.

“You’re looking well, Charles. Merry Christmas.”

“Is it? Well, what do you know?” And he glanced down at his sweater, grinning at his own joke. “In case you were wondering, Cordelia stepped out with her laundry basket. I heard her out here a few minutes ago.”

“Charlie, who’s at the door?” Emma cringed at the sound of Cassandra’s voice, just that much shy of shrill. The handsome older woman came up and edged Charles aside, and he suffered it with a roll of his eyes. “There she is,” Cassandra cooed. “I thought I told you not to be a stranger the last time, Emma Frost!”

“I’ve never been good at doing what I’m told, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, just like _this one_ here,” Cassandra said. She reached up with her bony hand and gave Charles’ shoulder a jostle that looked unpleasant, but he suffered that, too. “I told him to have the groceries ordered in, but this one went to the market by himself, after he just finished physical therapy for his hip replacement! Out there carrying heavy grocery bags in the cold and driving around town like a fool! I’m four minutes older than he is, and he still doesn’t take me seriously.”

“You’d think it was four _decades_. I do the shopping to get some peace,” Charles teased, and Emma smothered a laugh. Cassandra wore a red sweatshirt cardigan with poinsettia appliques fused onto the front and accented with gold glitter; it looked like a Michael’s craft class project and it fought for dominance with the three-strand, gaudy, beaded necklace she wore.

“Oh, laugh now, Twinkle Toes. Thinks he’s a smarty pants now,” Cassandra told Emma. “Wait til he falls again and breaks his _other_ hip.” Charles gave her a sharp look, and then offered Emma a deadpan one.

“She _pushed_ me last time, you know.”

“Ugh, don’t listen to him, dearie. How long are you here for? And where’s Amora? That’s who you were seeing last time, weren’t you? Are you and your sister going to your mother’s for the holiday supper?”

Emma submitted to the grilling with her careful smile in place, but she felt herself begin to unravel at the sound of Amora’s name. “Amora couldn’t quite make it. She had other plans.” She shifted her weight and rebalanced the bag of junk food on her other hip.

Charles gave her a silent look of understanding, but Cassandra prattled on, smiling with her perfect white dentures. “Oh, that’s a shame. She seems like such a lovely girl.” Cassandra leaned forward out of the doorway and patted Emma’s arm fondly. “You two made such a striking pair. Are the two of you getting along, still?”

“We mustn’t pry, Cass,” Charles mentioned. “Leave the child in peace.”

“It’s just been so long since I’ve seen her! We’re just passing the time until Cordelia… oh, there she is! She’s coming! And she’s going to catch a chill, wearing so little out on a night like this!”

Emma nearly sobbed in relief when she saw Cordy balancing a laundry basket on her hip, clad in homely sweats, a pair of duck boots, and a knit beanie. She eyed Emma sheepishly and frowned when she noticed Amora’s absence.

“Emma was worried that you’d been swept off your feet by Prince Charming and rode off with him on his white horse,” Charles kidded. Cordelia snickered as she juggled her basket while she dug her keys out of her pocket.

“Oh, if only,” Cordelia told him.

“You’re still young yet!” Cassandra thought that was encouraging. Charles just bit his lip.

“Let me dust off my ball gown and find some mice to pull my carriage, and we’ll make this happen.”

“I’m going to knit you a scarf,” Cassandra threatened. “You’ll get sick out in this cold!”

“I’m going right inside! Promise! Hey,” Cordy told her younger sister, giving her a hasty kiss on the cheek. “You brought alcohol,” she murmured appreciatively. “Sweet!”

“Save me,” Emma mouthed.

“Hey, Cassandra and Charles, Merry Christmas!” Cordy told them as she unlocked the door and bumped it open with her hip.

“Merry Christmas!” Emma called over her shoulder as she rushed inside, scooping up the overnight bag as she went.

“Tell Amora we said hello, dearie!”

Emma waved before she closed the door on Cordelia’s prattling neighbor, feeling sick.

“I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t know you were already so close, and I didn’t think I’d be gone that long. That weasel down the way stopped me in the laundry room and kept trying to get me to tell him my plans for New Year’s.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I’d be home with a bottle of wine and a case of chlamydia.” Emma huffed a shaky laugh. “So. Tell me. Why do you look like hell, and where is your girlfriend?”

Emma shrugged and shook her head, eyes filling.

“Shit,” Cordelia muttered. “Right before _Christmas_? She does this on the bloody holiday?”

Emma nodded. Her sniffle was loud, and Cordelia put down her laundry basket, relieved Emma of the bag of junk food and hugged her one-armed, not minding when her baby sister sobbed into her hair and clung to her for dear life.

“That was such a shit thing to do. Who does that???”

“I found out on Facebook.”

“Oh, Lord. That’s so tacky.”

“She said she had a business trip.”

“Of course she did. Don’t they all.” Cordelia disengaged herself reluctantly and led Emma into the kitchen. “That explains the wine coolers. Doesn’t quite justify the Cheetos…”

“Just open the damned things. Cheetos don’t need explaining.”

“Right.” Cordelia fished them out of the bag and opened them, thinking that Emma was just going to reach into the bag, but Emma took the whole thing from her. “Oh, dear.” 

“Why are you doing your laundry this late?” Emma demanded around a crunchy, salty handful of comfort food.

“I had nothing to wear for tomorrow. I don’t want to show up looking like I’m digging in the back of my closet because I had no clean laundry when we go to Mom and Dad’s. I was down to the ‘stanky pair’ of underpants.” They both loved _The Sweetest Thing_ for that reference alone. 

They sat on the couch together once Cordy uncapped two wine coolers. “I’m going to regret this right before bed,” Cordelia admitted. But she made an appreciative sound when she took a long gulp. “I love black cherry.”

“Right?” Emma washed down another fistful of Cheetos with hers. “God, that helps.”

“So. No Amora.”

“No more Amora.”

“What happened, now?”

“I just thought she was being coy about staying at Mom and Dad’s with me for the holiday, and she suddenly springs it on me that she has this business trip. Then, I log onto my Facebook, and her new girlfriend tags her in the photos of the two of them at a Christmas party. She never even left the city.”

“Maybe you should have turned on the GPS to keep tabs on her…”

“Oh, Cordelia, stop it.”

“Okay. Still. That’s a dirty way to do someone you love.”

Emma’s face crumpled, and she dissolved into tears. Cordelia set her drink down and gave her another one-armed hug. 

“Sweetie, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!”

“It’s better that this happened before the two of you signed a lease together.”

“Well, now I might as well stay where I am, but she just… I just feel like she led me on, Cord. Who does that? She filled out an application and credit check! She was just playing along???”

“Maybe that’s just what she does?”

“I thought she _loved. Me._ ” Emma’s voice was halting and had reached the pitch of a dolphin whicker. 

“Oh, I hope she did, for your sake, darling. You spent a lot of time and energy on her. You gave her your best.” Cordelia rubbed her arm soothingly, leaning her cheek against the top of her head. Then she straightened up and touched Emma’s hair thoughtfully. “Did you just get your highlights redone?”

“Yeah.” 

“They look really nice. They blend in so well, I love the hint of caramel.”

“Thanks,” Emma told her miserably.

“Right. Love life just fell apart, but at least Mom will have no problem with this hair. Besides, she’ll be too busy grilling Ben about his plans to make Chris an honest man.”

That made Emma perk up a bit. “Oh, no. He’s coming to Christmas dinner?”

“With bells on. Scratch that. With Gucci on.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“I think she likes him.”

“Of course she does. Because Chris can do absolutely no wrong, ever.” Emma finished about half of her wine cooler while Cordelia reached gingerly into the Cheeto bag. “Perfect house. Perfect job. Perfect boyfriend. And here I am, can’t even tell my long-term girlfriend who I want to settle down with has someone on the side.”

“How bad was it?”

Emma had no shame about digging into her purse with Cheeto-dusted, orange fingers and showing Cordelia her phone, once she pulled up her Facebook feed.

“Oh, shit. She unfriended you,” Cordelia mentioned. 

“WHAT? REALLY?!” Emma’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God… well, FUCK ME! That BITCH!”

“She changed her profile photo, though. And her status says ‘It’s Complicated.’”

“Oh, because of course it does,” Emma snapped. She was exhausted and heard a low buzzing in the back of her skull from so long in the car and eating horrible food on the ride. “I just can’t believe she could do something like this to me. What did I do to deserve this?”

Cordelia sighed and stared awkwardly down at her wine cooler.

“What?”

“It wasn’t anything you _did_ , per se…”

“What does that even mean?” Emma mopped her damp cheeks with the back of her hand, hoping to avoid swiping Cheeto dust across her face.

“Amora could be nice. It’s just… she was a tad selfish, Ems.”

Emma gawked, and she threw up her hands in defeat. “Okay. You didn’t like her?”

“She wasn’t the worst. But she also wasn’t the best. You could do better.”

“What… how?”

“You seemed happy. I didn’t want to speak out of turn or run your ranch, Ems. You know that. I love you.” She reached out and squeezed Emma’s cheeks, squishing the lower half of her face until Emma’s lips puckered. “I wub yoooooouuuuu, baby sistewwwwwwww…”

“Oh, God, stop. Please. Just don’t.”

“Sorry. But I do. And I didn’t want to point out that Amora just.. She always just looked like she was ready to check out. You know, when Chris is being ridiculous, or Dad’s being Dad, or Mom’s launching into one of her tirades about how Whole Foods doesn’t carry her favorite organic yogurt anymore like it’s their own personal conspiracy against _her and her alone_ , Amora just looks like she’s over it. Like she’s doing us all a favor by being there. Sometimes, I felt like she was only tolerating me.”

“Adrienne liked her.”

“Emma. It’s. _Adrienne._ Oh, my God, those two were peas in a pod. You know better than that. You can’t pull that out of your hat like it’s a plus.”

“What? Amora was fine with Adrienne, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fine, then. Anything else you were planning to tell me tonight?”

“Well, I still have to go get Dad’s gift from the engraver’s. I was hoping you could come with me, and we could pick up Chris for brunch.”

Emma sighed and collapsed back against the couch cushions. “Fine.”

“Don’t sound so enthused.”

“It’s not just that she cheated on me. It’s just… the tackiness of it all.”

“It _was_ tacky.”

They turned on the TV and watched an episode of House Hunters.

“That’s the ugliest fireplace I’ve ever seen.”

“And she said she didn’t really want a fireplace.”

“So why not spend half a million dollars ripping it out, right?”

“Might as well build the whole house from scratch, if you want to get that picky.”

“I want another wine cooler.”

“Might as well. Life’s short.”

Emma and Cordelia ate Cheetos until their tongues were pasty and half-numb from the salt. Emma felt her phone buzz and noticed a call from Chris. “Hey, big brother,” she told him groggily.

“You sound like someone hit you in the head with a box of rocks,” he told her. “You just got in, right?”

“I texted him when you got in,” Cordelia admitted, since she could hear him easily at the volume Emma set on her phone.

“Gang’s all here, except Amora,” Emma said.

“Ouch. That sounds… less than ideal.”

“Ohhhhhh, there’s a lot to unpack. If you love me at all, you’ll meet Cordy and me for brunch tomorrow before all of the Christmas Eve screeching, hair-pulling and shenanigans.”

“‘Screeching’ is a bit harsh. Mom doesn’t ‘screech.’ She ‘spouts off at the mouth.’ Just ask Grandma.”

“Or ask Dad,” Cordelia reminded them both.

“Or Dad,” Chris agreed. Then his voice turned warm. “Still can’t wait to see my baby sister. Love you.”

Emma gave him a shaky, wet sigh. “At least someone does.”

“Oh, you don’t sound like you at all. We need to fix that.”

“Wine coolers,” Cordelia told him simply. “They’re medicinal.”

“Hope you’re at least having ice cream?”

“Not yet. Maybe tomorrow. We’re having Cheetos, however.”

“Lord, that sounds desperate. Okay. So, what are we thinking? Around ten tomorrow?”

“We’ll pour ourselves out of bed by then,” Cordelia promised. “All right. Sounds like a plan.”

“Hang in there, Em.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I want the lowdown tomorrow.”

“Ohhhhh, you’ll get it.”

“Okay. Smooches. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you, sis. Love you too, Cordy.”

“Second billing. I always get second billing,” Cordelia joked.

“I loved you first,” Chris reminded her, “if that means anything.”

“Likewise, and fair enough. Still doesn’t quite let you off the hook for playing favorites.”

But at least Emma was smiling, bloodshot eyes, orange fingers, and all.

“See ya.”

“G’night, Chris.”

 

*

 

Emma slept on Cordelia’s fold-out sofa, since her guest room was hopelessly cluttered, and Emma didn’t feel like tiptoing around or tripping over Cordelia’s gift wrapping or scrapbooking supplies. And her Boyd’s Bear figurines staring at Emma in the dark with their big, dark, soulful eyes would certainly creep her out.

Her sleep was restless. Her body still felt like it was in the car. And she felt all wrong, trying to drift off without having Amora spooned against her, or at least having her hand on her hip. Emma missed the feeling of her breath misting hotly over the crest of her shoulder in the dark. Emma tossed and turned for about an hour before she finally dozed.

She was already done with Christmas, and it hadn’t even begun.

*

Despite her sister’s claim that she would regret the alcohol the night before, Cordelia blazed back inside the apartment the next morning. “Emma. Up and at ‘em. Let’s get to the jewelry store before the rest of the crowd, if we can.”

“What time is it?” Emma yawned. Her hair was half-stuck to her cheek with drool, her eyes were crusty with sleep, and she felt heavy-limbed when she sat up. Cordelia was in her gym clothes and Northface jacket, ears wrapped in a knit headband.

“Almost nine. We can get to the store and hang out with Christian.”

“Is Ben coming?”

“He might meet up with us later.” Then Cordelia chuckled. “He still hasn’t even bought his gift.”

“Seriously?” 

“Left it to the last minute.”

“I’m not the only human disaster in the family for a change?”

“Excuse me? Remember who you’re talking to.”

“You went to the gym on Christmas Eve. You’ve got your act more put together than I do, Cord.”

“No, I don’t. There’s just a really cute guy who works at the counter where they give out the towels on the morning shift. I don’t have my act together, I just have a _routine._ ”

“Please tell me there’s coffee.”

“It’s that Peruvian coffee you liked.”

“The blond roast?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Pour me the biggest cup you have.”


	4. Swept Off My Feet, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Errands. Brunch. A little stumble (literal and figurative).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned Ororo was in this, didn’t I?

“‘Take off the sunglasses, ducks. We’re inside.”

“Light isn’t my friend.”

“You’ll manage. No sense in showing the world you’re hungover.”

Cordelia had a point. Emma sighed to herself; at least she’d managed to put on some concealer, but the dark circles under her eyes were giving her a run for her money.

She removed the Ray-Bans and tucked them into her pocket while they waited for the clerk behind the jewelry counter to help them. He was portly and middle-aged, with the kind of ruddy cheeks typical of someone with hypertension and a taste for a rare steak.

“Well, hello again,” he told Cordelia. “I was expecting you!” He reached behind him for a jewelry box wrapped in a plastic bag with a sales slip stapled to it. He pulled it out of the bag and set it on the counter, opening the box for Cordelia. The two sisters leaned down and both “oooooh’ed” over the gorgeous platinum watch. Cordelia lifted the watch up from the box, tugging it out from the little indentation in the stand, and she flipped it over to read the inscription she ordered.

“That’s perfect,” she told the clerk.

He beamed. “That’s what I like to hear. You added the warranty, which is good for the life of this piece.”

“I hope he likes it,” Cordelia mused.

“If not, I sure would,” the clerk assured her.

“Oh, hahaha,” she agreed, and she gave him that squinty smile that Emma knew was insincere.

“You’d like this gift-wrapped? No charge.”

“Well, then, we can take a minute to wait. We’d appreciate it very much, thank you.”

“Nice word, Cordy.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

All four Frost siblings chipped in on the watch, deciding that was an easier gift than trying to find four separate gifts that their mother wouldn’t tell each of them that they should have purchased somewhere else at a better deal. Or in a different style. .Or color. Or just skipped altogether and gotten Winston a gift card instead. Even Hazel couldn’t complain about platinum, Emma thought bitterly. 

In a few minutes, the clerk returned to the counter with the box, impeccably wrapped in gold foil paper. He placed it into a small black gift bag with the store’s logo on it and added a flourish of tissue paper. “All nice and ready to give,” he told them with a smile.

“You’ve taken a lot of work out of our morning,” Cordelia told him. “I don’t envy you, working Christmas Eve.”

“I’m not complaining. Our grandkids live overseas. The wife and I are just planning to drive to Hyannis for her favorite clam chowder.”

“That sounds so wonderfully un-Christmasy,” Emma told him. He winked at her and made little finger guns.

“It’s different when you don’t have to entertain your whole family.”

_Ohhhhhh_ , he didn’t know the _half_ of it.

“Do either of you need to add on a little something for a husband, today?”

Emma smothered her laugh with a cough. Cordelia kicked her below the edge of the counter. “Not today.”

“Not...really.”

“No worries. Merry Christmas. Hope he enjoys it, ladies. Come back whenever you need a special gift.”

“Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas. Bye, now.”

They hurried from the shop, and Emma sputtered, earning herself her sister’s swat. “You’re awful. Honestly.”

“What? I definitely didn’t have to ‘add on anything for a husband’ today. I was just being honest.”

“I saw that gleam in your eye.”

“Whatever. Call Chris. Tell him to meet us at 99.”

“It’s crowded by now,” Cordelia reminded her.

“I like their home fries the best. I’ve been low carbing for weeks.”

“Not last night.”

“Oh, shut up, Cordy.”

“Cheetos aren’t a protein. Not by any stretch of the imagination.”

“I regret nothing.”

 

For all intents and purposes, their morning wasn’t the worst.

Emma’s fairness looked “just this side of pale” dressed as she was in a black sweater and skinny jeans, black wedge-heeled boots, and a charcoal ski vest. She wore her hair skinned back in a bun with a few tendrils hanging around her face. Cordelia stared at her with clear judgment radiating from her eyes.

“That outfit screams ‘Just Got Dumped.’”

“It’s comforting. And I’m in mourning.”

It hadn’t helped that Amora chose to formalize their breakup via text. Emma had almost dozed off when she heard the ping of a message and saw her phone screen glow from the coffee table. She sat up, read the message breathlessly, and fired back a reply, fingers flying, in all caps and question marks.

_I’m sorry. I know I should have told you, but you’re such a smart girl, Emma. I thought you’d figure it out. We just weren’t working. We wanted different things._

_DIFFERENT THINGS???_

_Yes._

_We really do._

_SO YOU DIDN’T WANT A COMMITMENT??? YOU COULDN’T HAVE SAID SO INSTEAD OF LEADING ME ON AND LYING ABOUT WANTING TO MOVE IN TOGETHER???_

_THAT’S HOW YOU TREAT ME AFTER SO MANY MONTHS? DID YOU LOVE ME AT ALL?_

_That’s the problem, sweetheart. I thought I did. This just wasn’t how I planned for it to go._

_I wish I could have been the woman you needed. You have very particular needs. They were hard to meet._

_HARD TO MEET?? YOU’RE SITTING HERE, TELLING ME THAT LOVING ME WAS TOO HARD? HOW ABOUT HONESTY, AMORA? HOW ABOUT NOT CHEATING ON ME INSTEAD OF COMING WITH ME TO MY PARENTS FOR THE BLOODY HOLIDAY??! WAS THAT TOO MUCH FOR ME TO ASK?_

Then, when Emma felt her chest burn so much that it felt like she was breathing molasses, she typed, _She tagged you. You just let her do that, and you didn’t give a damn that I would see that. You must have been fine with that. I must have meant so little to you. That wasn’t very subtle._

The phone screen bubbled at Emma, and then stopped. Emma chucked her phone onto the floor despondently. She wasn’t going to play this game with Amora all night.

When she still wasn’t asleep, she checked the phone one more time for good measure.

Still nothing.

Emma fought her way into an uneasy sleep.

Her face was paying for it. Her cheeks looked slightly puffy to her own jaundiced eye before she climbed into the shower. Emma literally put her game face on, making liberal use of her makeup and Paul Mitchell.

At least she didn’t look like she was screaming on the inside. That was the goal.

They reached the front lobby of 99 just as the hostess seated a table of six.

“How many?”

“Four,” Emma said.

“Six,” Cordelia corrected her. 

“What?” Emma jerked her head around and gave her sister a look of warning. “Why?”

“Adrienne texted me. She wants to come with Donald.”

Emma deflated, and she groaned in distaste.

“Be nice. She’s our sister.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m telling Dad.” The hostess eyed them expectantly. “Six,” Cordelia reiterated before Emma could object.

Emma sank down onto one of the guest chairs and poured. “We couldn’t have a little more peace before we head over to Mom and Dad’s? That could have been your gift to me, you know.”

“I got you a gift. And you’re gonna love it, I promise. C’mon. Adrienne has been asking me about you all week. She can’t wait to see you.”

“Pfffft… asking about me, huh?”

Cordelia shoulder-checked her again. “Nothing bad. Calm down.”

“The last time she cornered me, she asked me if I ever heard from Warren Worthington.”

“Oh, good Lord…”

“She did that.”

“Wow. WOW. That’s reaching, even for our sister. And you’re not missing anything. He was looking rough. I ran into him at Windfall a week ago. He was rocking the flannel, a daddy beard, and a dad bod. His kids are cute, though. They look so much like Candy.”

Emma snorted.

Warren had been one of her lapses in judgment her freshman year. They made a photo-ready couple, but Warren bored her to tears. She still suffered being one half of “Warren and Emma”, or as one of her least favorite classmates in geometry class called them, “Barbie and Ken,” for four months. Warren had an unfortunate habit of sticking his tongue down her throat when they kissed and being rather handsy in front of their friends. It made Emma uncomfortable. She dumped him quietly the week after prom, out of some sense of not wanting to upset the apple cart. (She’d already spent four hundred dollars on a dress, besides, and four weeks at the tanning salon.) Emma still always wondered if he sensed that she wasn’t benefitting as much from the relationship as he was. That his touch didn’t inspire need. That his kisses always tasted slightly wrong. That they were two instruments tuned in different keys and that sounded sour and discordant together.

She’d been discreet enough to wait until school was out before she dropped a letter in his mailbox and rode off on her bike before his parents could see her through the window. His voice was defensive when he called her the next day, but there was dry laughter in his voice when he told her, “Your loss, I guess.” And of _course_ he told his friends, her friends, and anyone else who would listen that _he’d_ dumped _her_. It didn’t matter; Emma still had boys lingering by her locker or by her homeroom. To Warren’s credit, he hadn’t told them disparaging things. She wouldn’t regret protecting his ego.

Yet, it was lonely. 

While the rest of the girls on the cheer squad and in Emma’s French Club acted like she’d lost her mind for breaking up with him, Ororo simply walked over to her house after they got off the phone, handed her the shopping bag with the loaf of chocolate chip cookie dough inside, and gave her a hug that Emma hadn’t realized she needed. Ororo smelled like Love’s Baby Soft and the leave-in conditioner that looked fluorescent yellow in the jar that she bought at Sally’s Beauty Supply every month. She felt soft and strong, and it made Emma’s eyes burn a little that this could feel so right, but that it could only ever end _here_. Warren’s touch was never gentle enough, and he never knew how to keep it intimate. 

Ororo, by contrast, made Emma feel like she’d been wrapped in the world’s coziest blanket as soon as she opened her mouth. “How did you put up with him for so long?” They sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch in the basement, pinching off lumps of dough and feasting on them as Emma unloaded her sorrows.

“I don’t know,” she groaned. “I just. Thought maybe I _had_ to. It’s just weird. I thought he was the kind of guy I was supposed to date. Y’know?”

“I guess. He’s cute, but… he just doesn’t do it for me, if I’m being honest. You’re right. He’s pretty.”

That made Emma giggle. But Ororo pressed on.

“Seriously, sweetie. He’s too pretty. And he knows it. Every girl that I know drools over him, but… I’ve never wanted to date anyone like that. I’d feel like all the girls would stare at him, and want him, even if he’s out with me. That just skeeves me out.”

“Yeah. That’s… that’s a good way of looking at it. He was ‘pretty.’” Emma made air quotes around the word. “Maybe that was the problem.”

“What else could it be?”

“His mouth tasted like squid. Kissing him was weird.”

That gave Ororo pause. “Really?” She looked fascinated by the concept.

“Yeah. It just felt… kinda icky. Like, I wanted to like it? I felt like maybe there was something wrong with me because I didn’t. What do you think? When you kiss a boy, Ororo, is it supposed to feel like that?”

She snorted and ducked her face, and Emma glanced at her, taking in her smug smile.

“Well, not if they’re doing it _right_. I mean, I’ve kissed. I liked it. Remember James? That guy whose parents had the summer home in Woods Hole? He was from Quebec?”

“Ooh. The short one with the weird sideburns? Really burly? He was kind of cute. He went by Logan, didn’t he?”

Ororo nodded with enthusiasm. “We ended up at a party his older brother threw. He invited me after I was done with work. I was still washing dishes at Seafood Sam’s. They were drinking wine coolers and beer. And they were playing Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open. “You’re _kidding._ ”

Ororo shook her head.

“You. You went into the closet with him?”

She nodded, grinning.

“Ororo! How did I not know this?!”

“I didn’t get around to telling you! But, yeah. He. He was something else. Logan could kiss. He was rough around the edges, and he needed to watch his hands, but… he had a great mouth. I like someone who’s a little more gentle, but he made me feel excited. It gave me butterflies in my stomach.”

“Wow.” Emma’s voice was quiet.

And there it was.

Warren hadn’t done that.

Emma wondered if she would ever meet anyone who would do that.

“A really good kiss makes you feel like someone poured a soda pop right into your stomach.”

“Is that it?”

“Yeah.” Ororo bit her lip. She set down the cookie dough loaf and turned to Emma. “It’s… I don’t know how to describe it. Like, the way they taste. If their lips are too wet, that ruins it. So does too much tongue. Unless you _like_ tongue. I don’t like it when they bite my lips, either.”

“I hate that,” Emma confessed. “I wish Warren had been gentler. I wish he’d gone a little slower, too. I like it to be soft.”

“Yeah.” Ororo smiled. “Not like being mauled. This one time, when I went to camp... “ Ororo ducked her face.

“What?”

“I hung out with his girl at my cabin. When the rest of the girls went swimming at the lake.”

Emma felt heat swamp her cheeks, and her eyes grew round. “What… what happened?”

“Don’t… don’t get weirded out, okay? But, we kinda. Kissed. We made out a little.”

The bottom dropped out of Emma’s stomach. She didn’t know how to process it. “You did?”

“Yeah.” Ororo’s body tensed beside her. Emma reached over and squeezed Ororo’s wrist, trying to get her attention. She saw Ororo’s honesty in her face, and a hint of apprehension.

“What was it like?” Emma asked softly.

Ororo still looked uncertain. “Pinkie swear that you won’t get weirded out, no matter what I tell you. Okay? You’re my best friend?”

“I am. You’re mine, remember?”

“No matter what?”

Ororo’s voice sounded worried.

“Yeah, you big goof. Of course.”

“Okay.” Ororo let out a shaky breath, and she looked away when she told Emma, “I really liked it.”

Emma’s world tilted on its axis. “You did?”

“It was nice. She was nice. We just… we laid there and kissed. She smelled good. And she tasted good. It was exciting, Emma. I mean, I like boys. But, the thing is, I think I like girls, too.”

The last was said with hesitation, and Ororo’s voice was unsteady.

“You do?”

Ororo nodded. “Emma?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Please, don’t hate me. Don’t tell me we can’t be friends anymore-”

“No! No. Ororo, no way.” Emma shook her head emphatically. “We’re best friends forever. It’s okay, all right?” And Emma reached for her, engulfing her in a tight, lingering hug.

“Oh, my God… I was worried.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t know. And it’s okay. I mean, we can talk about this. We really can.” Emma rubbed Ororo’s back soothingly. Her soft hair tickled Emma’s cheek, and she felt soft and warm in her arms. “At least you can kiss somebody and feel like it’s right.”

“Emma?” Ororo drew back, her smile still in place, until she saw Emma’s worried look.

“Why didn’t it feel right with Warren?”

“Because he wasn’t the right boy-”

“What if _no one_ is the right boy?”

Emma’s eyes sparked, and her mouth felt uncomfortably dry. 

“What’s wrong with me?”

Ororo slowly shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Emma.”

“I don’t think I like boys like that.”

“Emma. It’s okay. You don’t _have_ to.”

“But- what if… I just-”

“It’s okay.”

Ororo reached down and covered the Emma’s hand with hers, the same one that was gripping her wrist. Her hand was cool, and her touch was soft. “It’s okay, Emma,” she repeated. Emma’s breath caught. Ororo’s smile was reassuring but wobbly.

She reached up and touched Emma’s cheek, a searching caress. Emma’s stomach fluttered with the contact. Ororo’s eyes dilated, and Emma took in the minute changes, the way her breathing quickened, the rise and fall of her chest, the slight incline of her face. The misting of her warm breath over Emma’s skin as she leaned in.

_Oh._

So, _this_ was what all the fuss was about.

The kiss was a faint brush of her lips, gentle and dry, and Emma’s pulse jumped. Ororo smelled sweet, and Emma tasted the smudge of chocolate and sugar crystals on Ororo’s lips. She leaned in and risked another tentative press of her lips, lingering over it. 

“Is this okay?” she breathed. 

Ororo nodded quickly, closing the narrow gap between them, and her next kiss made Emma’s heart pound out of her chest. Firmer, yet still softer than Warren’s. The set of her mouth was soft and pliant. Ororo kissed her as though she was eating a peach. Her tongue stroked the seam of Emma’s mouth, and Emma opened for her.

Oh, this was _so_ much different.

But before they could fully explore it, they heard the key in the front door. The girls sprang apart. “Shit,” Emma hissed. “That’s Mom.”

“Girls!” Hazel called out. “Come and help me get these groceries inside?”

The mood fled them. Emma’s cheeks were bright scarlet, and Ororo hurried up from her place on the couch. “Okay,” she muttered. Emma heard her low _phew_ that whooshed out of her mouth, and somehow, she knew that this…

...this was just going to be a memory. A one-off. 

It still answered her unspoken questions so easily. Emma felt a little raw inside. Her life changed in that moment. If Hazel noticed the difference in her youngest that night at the dinner table after Ororo made her polite refusal of the invitation for lamb stew, she ignored it, instead grilling Emma about whether she liked anyone new, now that the Worthington boy wasn’t coming around anymore. Emma felt a little deserted, unable to process these new feelings and hating that she had to do it alone. 

The next day at school, when Ororo and Emma met at the front courtyard, Ororo didn’t mention what happened. “Did you do the chem homework?”

“Yeah. I got lost on number six.”

“I’ll show you the formula I used for that one.” Ororo opened up her notes and dragged Emma to a bench, gave Emma a stick of gum that she wouldn’t be able to chew past homeroom, and they went over the problems without even bringing up what happened. Emma felt disappointed but relieved. 

Scott Summers asked Emma out later that week. They ended up going out on one date to the movies. The kiss afterward was all right, but it still didn’t get Emma’s motor running. He didn’t ask her on a second date.

Emma didn’t go on another date for the rest of her high school career. Ororo enjoyed a brief tryst with Logan over the summer break again, until he went back to Quebec and assured her that they would never work out long distance. Ororo was disgruntled about it, but she didn’t seem heartbroken. 

“Boys,” she muttered aloud to Emma while they watched MTV.

“Yep,” Emma agreed, even though she didn’t… quite.

*

 

Adrienne arrived first. She kissed Cordy first. “Cute jacket!” she cooed, fingering the collar.

Before Cordelia could thank her, she spied Emma and tsked. “God, what’s up with you, Emma? You look like death warmed over. What’s with all the black?”

“Okay,” Emma sighed.

“Where’s my hug?”

Emma’s face went on a journey over Adrienne’s shoulder, while Cordelia smothered a snicker, nearly choking on her orange juice. Adrienne sat down and shrugged out of her jacket. “Where’s Amora? She didn’t come with you?”

“No,” Emma told her. “For the thrilling conclusion to _that_ story, just check out my Facebook status.”

“What does that mean?” Adrienne turned to Cordelia for an answer, as though she didn’t trust Emma to deliver one that wasn’t scathing and drenched in sarcasm. “What does she mean by that?”

“Amora had a chick on the side,” Cordelia told her, refusing to mince words.

“I got _dumped_. Merry bloody Christmas,” Emma pronounced.

“Oh. Well. That’s inconvenient, isn’t it? Was it something you said? I thought you two were doing well.”

“Was it something _I_ said?”

Emma felt her face contorting with a rush of emotions. Adrienne wore that Patronizing Look that Emma despised.

“People don’t just break up on Christmas, unless they weren’t really happy to begin with,” Adrienne explained.

“Ade,” Cordelia told her, “tone it down.”

“What? Who breaks up right before the most important holiday of the year? Amora and Mother got along well,” Adrienne said. “I bought her a nice gift!”

“Then, have fun taking it back to the store,” Emma snapped. “I hope you kept the receipt.”

Adrienne brightened. “I did, actually. I think I have it in my purse. Now, I can go back to the Coach outlet and pick up that little wallet I had my eye on. Oh, this isn’t so bad.”

Emma felt raw. Cordelia bumped Emma with her knee, but Emma shook her head incrementally and took a swig of her juice, wishing it had vodka in it.

Donald met them moments later, smarmy as ever. Emma gave him a stiff hug and made the usual excuses for Amora which were now becoming rote.

“Other fish in the sea,” he told her. “And you know, I might have a friend you might like. Plays racquetball at my club.”

“Racquetball.” Emma was already bored.

“Yes. He works in accounting.”

_Wrong gender, buddy._ “Maybe not,” she told him gently.

“Emma’s a little picky about that,” Cordelia told him.

“Why? He has a good solid job. Great stock options. He has a summer home on the Vineyard,” Donald explained, as though this was a hard sell.

“Does he have breasts?” Emma asked sharply. Her smile was vicious.

Donald raised his brows and nervously reached for the bread basket.

Adrienne glared at her younger sister. “Stop that,” she hissed.

“Fuck off,” Emma muttered.

“Both of you, behave,” Cordelia insisted.

Just when Emma was ready to dump Adrienne’s hot cocoa in her lap, Christian and Ben breezed inside. Chris’ smile was open and bright. He made a beeline for Emma, tugging her up from her chair and giving her an obnoxiously tight hug. 

“Baby sister,” he murmured into her hair, kissing her cheek. “You okay?”

“No.”

“That’s why God made wine,” he reminded her. “Love you, okay?”

“Love you, too.” He released her and gave his other sisters obligatory pecks on the cheek before firmly shaking Donald’s hand. 

“What’s new, old man?”

Donald’s smile was a hard, tight little thing. “Your sister and I are enjoying my Christmas bonus.”

“I bet she is,” Christian agreed. Ben bit his lip beside him and pretended to be very, very interested in the menu.

Breakfast was an excruciating affair. Chris and Ben prattled on, as Emma suspected they would, about the vacation to Italy that they were planning and a dog that they had their eye on.

“I know it’s best to get one from the shelter,” Chris explained, “but a friend of mine breeds Malti-poos. He has a litter of four boys and a girl.”

“Sounds precious,” Adrienne agreed. “Those are a sweet mix. That might be a nice first step until you two adopt.”

Chris and Ben glanced at each other. “Or, it might be a good first and last step of just getting a dog. We aren’t ready for kids yet, Ade.”

“You two aren’t getting any younger.”

“Having kids won’t make us any younger,” Ben pointed out.

_Touche_. Cordelia and Emma raised their brows at each other before drinking their juice.

“At least you two are considering marriage, though,” Adrienne continued.

Ben gave her a warning look, mouthing the words _Shut up._ To no avail.

“Just propose, already, and quit leaving Mom and Dad in suspense,” Adrienne told them. “Don’t end up like Emma.”

“Like me? Like how? Alone? Dumped? Cheated on?”

The server brought their large, circular tray loaded up with their plates, unfolding the little canopy to set it on. Her bright smile remained fixed on her face.

“Who had the French toast?”

Cordelia raised her hand, nodding.

“Well, why would she cheat?”

“Why is the sky blue?” Cordelia asked.

“Why is water wet?” Christian added. “Adrienne, Amora wasn’t right for Emma. Obviously.”

Which made Emma realize that Chris had been sparing Emma a few opinions of his own regarding her ex.

“Maybe if you’d tried a little harder, she wouldn’t have done that. You never come home. You act like you don’t even have a family.”

“If. I’d tried. A. Little. Harder.”

Emma’s jaw ached. She couldn’t unclench it.

“Em,” Cordelia warned.

“You had the omelette, right?” the server inquired. 

“No. I had the bitchy sister getting up in my business for everybody to hear.” Emma was up from her seat, yanking open her purse. She pulled out her wallet and threw a twenty dollar bill onto her vacant place on the table before the server could set down her plate. 

“Emma,” Cordy warned. “Take it easy. Sit down and eat.”

“I’ve lost my appetite. Just stuff it, all of you.”

Emma marched out of the restaurant.

“That… was _so_ unnecessary,” Christian murmured. “Adrienne. Seriously.”

“She showed up to breakfast in an evil mood,” Adrienne insisted. “The least little thing was going to set her off.”

“Maybe that wasn’t the ‘least little thing,’” Ben corrected her. He turned to Christian and asked, “Want my bacon, sweetie? I’ll never finish all this.”

“We can split it, Benji.”

“I’m going to get our sister. She came with me,” Cordelia reminded them all.

 

Emma rushed from the lobby and out into the bright, unforgiving sunlight. She ignored the yellow “Wet Ground - Walk with Caution” sign that someone placed at the edge of the driveway. She spied the next parking lot over was having a Christmas tree sale, and she stalked across the still icy asphalt, noticing that her booted feet didn’t crunch with her steps. Which should have been ample warning that they hadn’t salted the ice.

Emma felt her leg fly out from under her, and she fell flat onto her back, biting her tongue as she landed. Her head smacked the asphalt mercilessly, ringing her chimes. Emma lay on the ground, reeling from the explosion of pain and the spots in her vision.

Emma heard two sets of footsteps. One from inside the front door, and another from several yards to her left. Both of them made urgent progress to her side. Cordelia’s worried face swam above her.

“Emmy! EMMA! Are you okay? Oh, my God, I saw you go down. That looks like it hurt. Talk to me, baby sister.”

“Emma?” 

The second voice was deep and familiar, and its owner hovered over Emma, reaching for her. 

Ororo.

Emma’s childhood best friend was unwinding her scarf from her throat, folding it and tucking it behind Emma’s head. Emma’s pride still felt wounded, but it was a relief not to feel the cold, icy ground beneath her head. “Ororo,” Emma croaked.

“Hey.”

Her tone was concerned and apologetic. “This isn’t a great start to your day,” Ororo pointed out.

“I’ve had better.”

“She’s had better,” Cordelia agreed.

“I told you I didn’t want to sit at the table with her. You didn’t listen to me,” Emma grumbled.

“You told me,” Cordy agreed.

“Adrienne?” Ororo guessed.

“Oh, how well you still know our family.”

“I see Hazel once in a while. I catered a garden party for one of her friends from her bridge club last summer.”

“What are you wearing?”

Ororo had stood to her full height, adjusting the little red apron around her waist, the kind you saw at craft fairs. “I use this to collect money. I’m selling trees with Dad.”

“My ass is cold,” Emma complained suddenly.

“Can you get up?”

“Maybe.”

“Come back inside,” Cordelia insisted.

“No.”

“Emma.”

“ _No._ ”

“Emma. It’s _Christmas._ ”

“No. I didn’t want to come. You knew that. Chris knows that.”

“Can I make a suggestion?” Ororo told them both.

“Lay it on me.”

“Come back with me to my shop.”

**Author's Note:**

> If I don't write the Ororo/Emma fics, then NO ONE ELSE WILL.


End file.
